


I Wouldn't Fall For Someone I Thought Couldn't Misbehave

by TheAsexualKingoftheUniverse



Series: Promise Me That When I'm Gone You'll Kill My Enemies [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman and Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: 1961 AU, Alfred's Scottish because I thought that would be fun, BAMF Alfred Pennyworth, Bad Flirting, F/M, Family Bonding, Family Feels, Fluff, Getting Together, Homoerotic subtext, Homoerotic text, Light BDSM, M/M, Martha Wayne being a fucking badass, Multi, Obliviousness, Open Marriage, Revelations of a unusual kind about Bruce's parents, Seduction, Tattoos, US Navy AU, a certain amount of angst, attempted use of slurs, it's mostly referenced, ngl parts of this are just straight up erotica, serious discussion of not fitting in with societal expectations, seriously bad flirting, story telling, that's not AU that's just facts, the Waynes and Alfred being raging bisexuals, the inherent romanticism of beating the shit out of assholes, very cute and happy ending, well the backstory of Alfred being set in 1961
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-26 14:03:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualKingoftheUniverse/pseuds/TheAsexualKingoftheUniverse
Summary: Alfred Pennyworth is a man of many secrets, an essential member of the Wayne family, and a chaotic man of considerable taste.When the first of his secrets is revealed, the stories that come out change the Wayne's perceptions of their lives, their past, and their grandfather.Oh, and, yes, this is a love story.
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth/Martha Wayne/Thomas Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne & Damian Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Series: Promise Me That When I'm Gone You'll Kill My Enemies [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1270925
Comments: 26
Kudos: 250





	I Wouldn't Fall For Someone I Thought Couldn't Misbehave

**Author's Note:**

> ...so this fic came out of nowhere. 
> 
> No, seriously, it hit me like a speeding train when I was working on research for a totally different thing in my Grandpa's Navy books (Yes, I based part of an erotic, polyamorous, Batman fic on my actual grandfather's life. I maintain that Grandpa was down with the gays and will not accept criticism for this decision). 
> 
> But not only did this fic totally sideline me, it sidelined pretty much the entire rest of the series as well. I've since been dying at uni and trying to jam the timeline back together in a way that makes sense. 
> 
> I gave up on that. Don't ask how Bruce is somehow 36 in 2019 while his parents got together in the late 50s. I don't have answers for you, and quite frankly DC does the exact same shit with their timelines so meh. 
> 
> If you're not into porn just skip the portions of the text that are italicised and in parentheses. Not all of that is porn, it's just stuff that Alfred left out of his narration to the family, but most of it is porn.
> 
> As always, thanks to Rory and CJ for encouraging me in this ridiculous endeavors.  
Title is from Nobody by Hozier. This entire fic was written listening to Hozier and boy howdy does it show.

It was a rare moment of peace for Alfred. He had finally retreated to his room for the night and had just picked up his pyjama shirt when his door slammed open.

“Alfie, we need you to patch up Damia- holy shit, is that a tattoo?” 

Alfred sighed.

“No, Master Jason,” he drawled as he put his shirt on, “It is a rather intricate birthmark. Where is Master Damian and why does he require my assistance?”

“Second floor landing. He bit Timmy and Timmy chucked him into a suit of armour. It was _hilarious_. Why do you a tattoo?” Jason said as they began to make their way down the hallway.

“I was given them,” Alfred replied. He strode down the stairs, catching sight of Damian lying on the ground, where he was being fussed over by Tim and Dick as Bruce loomed over them all.

“You have _multiple _tattoos?”

“Alfred has tattoos?” Bruce asked, dumbfounded.

Alfred pushed past them and knelt beside Damian.

“Yes, four. A dragon, a shellback, and two nautical stars, plus...another one. And I do believe that Master Damian is perfectly alright, save for some possible bruising. Hopefully this has taught you a lesson about biting your siblings.”

Damian glowered.

“He called me ‘adorable,’” he snarled.

“Wait, wait, back up a second,” Dick said, “When did you get tattoos?”

Alfred sighed again.

“Let us alight to the living room and procure some refreshments. This, I am afraid, is a very long story.”

* * *

Date: January 8, 1961

Location: Grande Island, U.S. Naval Base Subic Bay, Philippines.

Coordinates:14°46′10.77″N 120°13′40.30″E

Alfred sat on a hard, wooden bench, squinting down at the field.

It was a temperate day, about 13°C, and between that and the rugby match below he could have almost fooled himself into thinking he was back in Britain. He closed his eyes, let himself cast his thoughts back to his home, with the ever-present smell of the sea and all of those blasted sheep.

_Fucking sheep. Miserable bloody creatures, and if I never have to come within five feet of one, it’ll be too soon. _

“Quite the day for it, isn’t it?” Asked a loud, American voice from his left.

Alfred opened his eyes again.

Standing there, haloed by the sunlight, was a man. He was smiling, his face creased with well-worn laugh lines, despite the fact that he otherwise appeared to be in his mid-late twenties. His black hair was trimmed into that typical, hideously clean-cut Navy style, his dark brown eyes glinting with untold mischief. He was handsome in the manner that film stars were, with strong bones and full lips and subtle musculature.

_With my blasted luck, he goes for women, _Alfred thought.

“I suppose if one enjoys being pummelled within an inch of their life in return for hollow glories, then yes, it is quite the day for a match,” he replied.

“Not a rugby man, then?” The man asked as he sat down.

Alfred shrugged.

“I’m Lieutenant Thomas Wayne, USS Lexington.”

“Sub-Lieutenant Alfred Pennyworth, HMS Hermes. I do believe it was your ship with who we were running operations with, was it not?”

“I wouldn’t know, I work in H division- the medical department, that is- and I’ve got a shit memory. I’m second in command, though, under Doctor Lucas. What department you in?”

“That’s classified.”

“Ah, so you’re in whatever it is you Brits call the security group?”

“…yes.”

“You seem like the strong, silent type,” Thomas observed, “Well, that’s okay. I like your type.”

He then made what appeared to be a very poor attempt at a wink.

_Oh. He’s flirting with me. Terrible, terrible flirting, but still. _

“I suppose I am,” he replied, “You know, I have always heard that you doctors are good with your hands. Is there any truth to the rumour?”

Thomas grinned at him.

“I don’t know. Want to find out?”

* * *

“Wait a minute,” Bruce interrupted, “Alfred, did you fuck my dad?”

Alfred took a sip of his tea.

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Oh my god,” Dick said, “Is _anyone _in this family heterosexual?”

“My mother?” Bruce said.

Alfred gave him an amused look.

“Evidently not,” Bruce muttered.

“May I continue my story?”

They all nodded.

“Well, then,” Alfred continued, “After we had…completed our relations…”

* * *

Alfred sighed and turned his head towards Thomas.

“Thank you for your time. I’ll be going now.”

“Wait,” Thomas said, grabbing Alfred’s arm as he attempted to walk off, “It would be rude of me just to let you vanish into the aether. Let’s go to the bar, or grab supper. Something.”

“It’s a bad idea. We might be found out. And I don’t fancy the punishment that comes with that.”

Reluctantly, Thomas let him go.

“I guess this is goodbye, then.”

His face was sad, as if they had been with each other for twenty years rather than twenty minutes.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Alfred replied, ignoring the pain it was bringing him to see the man look so sad, “Perhaps…in another time, it would have worked out.”

And with that, he walked off, leaving Thomas behind forever.

Or so he thought.

* * *

Date: January 15, 1961

Location: Classified location aboard the HMS Hermes, U.S. Naval Base Subic Bay, Philippines.

Coordinates:14°48′30″N 120°17′30″E

Alfred was standing in front of his CO, staring at the man incredulously.

“You must be joking, sir.”

“I’m not, Pennyworth. Like I said, you are to report later today to the USS Lexington and assume duties there.”

Alfred sighed.

“Understood, commander. I’ll report there in the hour once I pack my things.”

“Very good, Pennyworth. Dismissed.”

Alfred turned and left the office. He made his way down the halls to his quarters, which were mercifully deserted. Once he’d shut and locked the door, he slid to the ground.

“It is very unfortunate,” he said to the room, “That my first good lay in three years was an illegal one, and that letting slip that I’ve been fantasizing about a man for the past week would be the undoing of both of our careers, and that I have now been assigned to this man’s ship, which will mean more exposure and more time to renew my…interest. But it is merely an unfortunate coincidence, and I will almost certainly be able to avoid one man on a ship of almost three thousand.”

(_Or, at least, that’s what he told the family he said. In actuality he spent that time fussing over his appearance to make sure he would look good in case he did happen to run into the doctor, and rehearsing what he might say, and pleading to the universe that he would have success ensnaring the man. _

_Little did he know, the universe was listening, and it was this exact moment that, many years later, Alfred began to blame everything on, because surely, he must have changed fate and doomed them all to that terrible night in Crime Alley_).

* * *

“I just gotta say, this is, like, a bad rom-com setup.”

“So it is, Master Jason. In fact, Martha used it as a plot for a rather lurid supermarket romance novel called ‘Rules and Roses.’”

Bruce and Tim both blanched.

“What?” Dick asked.

“We’ve read it,” Tim muttered, “A villain kept using it to give clues to his next plot. It was actually pretty good.”

“I read about my dad having sex,” Bruce said, horrified.

“Yes, yes, I’m sure it was a traumatic experience for you both. Now, I have a love story to get back to…”

* * *

Date: January 15, 1961

Location: USS Lexington, U.S. Naval Base Subic Bay, Philippines.

Coordinates:14°48′30″N 120°17′30″E

“Well, sir, I daresay you’ll be having an upgrade in accommodation,” announced his guide, a very cheerful enlisted man, “You’re shacked with one of our medical officers.”

_Fuck._

“Oh?” Alfred said, keeping his voice carefully mild, “And does this officer have a name?”

“Yessir, Doctor Thomas Wayne. One of the best on our team, and our team’s the best in the whole Navy. Really friendly, for a dude, y’know? I’m sure you’ll get along.”

_Oh, we do, _purred a dangerous part of Alfred’s mind, _just not in the way you’re thinking of. _

“Well, here you are. Here’s your key-” he undid the lock and dropped the key in Alfred’s shirt pocket- “and in you get.” He threw the door opened and smacked Alfred hard on the ass, sending him stumbling into the cabin.

He winced as the door slammed shut, finally raising his eyes to meet the astonished gaze of Thomas Wayne.  
“It would appear that my plan has gone tits-up,” Alfred muttered.

“In the US Navy,” Thomas replied, voice a bit faint, “We call that F.U.B.A.R.”

* * *

“Holy shit,” Dick said, “It really was a rom-com.”

“So it was, Master Dick, so it was.”

“I think it’s sweet. Everyone’s grandparents should have a sappy love story,” Terry declared.

“Very wise, Master Terry.”

“Let Alfred talk, you guys, Jesus.”

“Thank you, Master Duke. Now, where was I…”

* * *

Thomas and Alfred stared at each other for a good few minutes.

“Might I ask how you got on my ship?” Thomas asked.

“Oh, well, I work here now. And this is also my, uh, cabin now. Er, our cabin, I suppose.”

“Huh,” said Thomas, “Weird.”

He leaned back is his chair, revealing a large portrait sitting on his desk of a very beautiful and glamourous woman who had fixed the camera with a stoic and intelligent gaze.

“Who’s that?” Alfred asked, desperately grasping for a less awkward topic of conversation.

“Hm? Oh, her? That’s my wife.”

Alfred went cold with rage.

“So you used me to cheat on an innocent woman?” He spat.

Thomas startled.

“What? No. No, Martha knows that I’m…inclined towards both men and women. She’s the same. And, well, she suggested that we both be permitted to have, er, extramarital relations while I’m at sea. And I can tell you don’t believe me, so, hold on, let me just-” he opened one of the desk drawers and rifled through it, pulling out a piece of paper and thrusting it towards Alfred- “Here. Proof.”

Alfred begrudgingly accepted the paper.

In neat, elegant handwriting, it read:

**I, Martha Orli Wayne (nee Kane) hereby authorize my husband, Thomas David Wayne, to engage in extramarital relations during the period of time that he is serving active duty in the US Navy. This is agreed with the understanding that I am also permitted to engage in similar liaisons. **

The note was signed by both her and Thomas and even notarized.

When Alfred looked up, Thomas was staring at him nervously, with just a touch of hope in his eyes.

“Well,” Alfred said carefully, “I suppose, since I have been given a written invitation by the lady herself, that it would be unspeakably rude of me to refuse it.”

Thomas perked up.

“Does that mean-”

He was interrupted by the press of Alfred’s lips against his, for Alfred had dropped his bags, crossed the cabin in one long stride, clasped Thomas’ head in his hands, and kissed him.

* * *

“Wow,” Tim exclaimed, “You’ve got, like, totally smooth moves, Alf.”

Bruce gave him the stink eye.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to interrupt the story, I just…damn, I wish Kon was that smooth.”

“Hey!” Protested his offended boyfriend.

“I’m sure Master Conner will improve with practice,” Alfred said diplomatically.

“Eh, probably not,” Clark said, “It’s not in his genes from either Lex or I.”

“Dad!”

“I guess I’m doomed to never being seduced by a rakishly charming young man, then,” Tim sighed.

“A tragedy, Master Tim, now, back to my story…”

* * *

Date: February 3, 1961

Location: USS Lexington, Gulf of Tonkin.

Coordinates: CLASSIFIED

The next few weeks passed in the sort of smooth, rote routine that warships always had. Thomas woke Alfred up each morning with a cup of terrible, terrible coffee that he made using instant powder and hot water from their sink (Thomas had the audacity to be a morning person who only drank un-caffeinated tea), they went to the Officer’s Mess for breakfast, they parted ways to go to their respective duty stations, they ate dinner together, they went back to work, they met up again for supper, and then they amused themselves with activities with their fellow crewmembers for a couple of hours before retreating back to their quarters to spend the time before they had to be asleep doing more…pleasurable activities. If any of their crewmembers noticed anything unusual about the amount of time they spent together, they didn’t say anything. The minutemen- for that was what the crew of the Lexington called themselves- were good secret keepers, it seemed, as well as jocular and crass when their COs weren’t looking, but proper serious when they were.

H Division, on the other hand, seemed to be full of jesters, and this was on full display on the day that Alfred was scheduled for a check-up in medical.

As he walked down the hall, the med bay door slammed open.

“Out, Leighton,” Thomas roared, voice tinged with humour, “I don’t want to see you or the rest of your godforsaken division for the rest of the month.”

An enlisted man- Leighton, apparently- staggered out, a heavy bandage wrapped around one arm and a lopsided grin on his face.

“Hey, now, Doc, just because our planes are the Demons doesn’t mean that God’s left us in the dust. Well, not that I’m a big believer in the man upstairs, but you know.”

“Well, maybe if you believed a little more, I’d be seeing your sorry ass in here so often. Oh, and lay off the sweets, you’re ruining our dentistry department’s stellar reputation, not to mention your teeth.”

“No promises, Doc, with good looks like mine you don’t need to smile with your mouth open.”

The sailor cackled as he ducked a roll of bandages that had been thrown at his head before making his way down the corridor towards Alfred. When he caught sight of him, he snapped to and saluted. Alfred returned his salute and the sailor relaxed, rushing past him towards the lift.

Thomas emerged from the med bay and stooped to pick up the bandages before turning to Alfred.

“Those damn lions are always slicing themselves up on shit. Leighton’s a repeat offender and he doesn’t even work on heavy machinery.”

“Ah, yes, because the F3H Demon is such a notoriously lightweight piece of technology that doesn’t weigh several tons.”

“You know, Alfalfa, your sarcasm is uncalled for,” Thomas said as he waved Alfred into the med bay.

“What in the hell did you just call me?”

“Aw, c’mon, you need a US Navy nickname. You can’t tell me you didn’t have one in the Royal Navy.”

“I did. A terrible one.”

“What was it?”

“…four farthings.”

“I don’t get it.”

Alfred sighed.

“What’s a penny worth?” He asked.

“A cent?”

“Well, in Britain, a penny used to be worth four farthings.”

“Oh,” said Thomas, “That’s not a great joke.”

“No, it isn’t. Now, are you going to get this examination over with or shall I seek out a new doctor?”

“Bossy, bossy,” Thomas teased, unwinding his stethoscope, “Mouthing off to a superior officer might get you thrown in the brig. Now strip.”

“Why, I bloody well oughta-”

“Oh, get a room,” a passing nurse joked, “One with a lock on the door.”

“No, I’m going to bugger the good doctor on the flight deck for all the world and God to see,” Alfred snarked, “And then I’ll work my way through the crew before I go back to England and screw my fiancée.”

The nurse snorted.

“I’m sure she’ll be pleased with all the diseases you’ll bring back with you if you execute that plan.”

“Diseases? Are you implying that I can’t do my job and that the men of the Blue Ghost are plagued with afflictions, Nurse Farney?”

“Well, Doc, I do seem to recall half of the Marine Detachment being in with the crabs last month.”

“Fucking jarheads,” Thomas grumbled, “I told them not to share linens, but no, they’re better than everyone.”

“They can’t be feeling very superior while constantly resisting the urge to scratch their crotches,” Alfred mused.

Thomas snorted.

“On the contrary, it makes them worse. Half of B Division’s been hauled to the brig since the infestation began. Breathe deeply.”

Alfred did so.

“And you, being an uncontrollable gossip, know all about this.”

“Becoming a gossip’s an unavoidable fate when you work in medical,” moaned Farney, “What a man can’t tell his chaplain he’ll complain about to his doctor.”

“Yes, the men love to talk to us. One of the navigators told me we’re headed to Okinawa tonight. Alfredo, I will be requiring your assistance in selecting a gift for my wife to show off to her society friends.”

“And why, pray tell, are you incapable of doing this by yourself?”

“She’s informed me on several occasions that my taste is- and I quote- ‘horrendously garish,’” Thomas replied cheerfully, “And so I do believe I will be requiring a second opinion.”

“I’ll help you, but only to spare poor Martha from having to live with a gift she hates. Have you got anything in mind?”

“Yes, Leighton gave me the idea. He said he bought his mother a set of Noritake China and shipped it over and now he’s her favourite son. I think it’s a nice idea. Something floral, with blues and pinks and greens and gold…”

“Dear god,” Alfred said, “Now I am certain I must go with you.”

“Yeah, she already has to spend the rest of her life staring at his ugly mug, she doesn’t need to have ugly china, too,” said the nurse.

“Go kiss the devil and drown, Farney,” Thomas replied, “Alfredo, do excuse me while interrupt your appointment to murder my nurse.”

“You have got to come up with a better nickname than that,” Alfred muttered as Thomas launched himself at Farney with a cry.

* * *

“Four farthings is the shittiest nickname I’ve ever heard,” said Jason, “And Dick calls me ‘little wing.’”

Dick let out an offended cry and was promptly smacked by Cass.

“Let finish,” she ordered.

“Yes, thank you, Miss Cass. When we got to Okinawa…”

* * *

Date:February 9, 1961

Location: USS Lexington, Naval Base Buckner Bay, Okinawa, Japan. 

Coordinates:26°15′18″N 127°49′55″E

Alfred was shaken awake by Thomas and presented with a lukewarm mug of shitty coffee. He drank it, slowly coming into full consciousness. Once he had finished the mug, he turned to Thomas. He blinked once, twice.

“What in the goddamn bloody hell are you wearing?”

“Isn’t it fabulous?” Thomas said, spinning to show off his bright magenta Aloha shirt.

“It is certainly…something. It has definitely made me begin to understand your wife’s opinion of your taste level.”

Thomas pouted.

“I do think, however, that there is one area in which you have exceedingly good taste,” Alfred continued, rising from his bunk.

“Oh?” Thomas asked, feigning innocence, “What’s that?”

“Your taste in lovers,” Alfred said as he leaned in to kiss him.

(_It was a kiss Alfred remembered vividly, though he left all the details out when he told the story. He remembered how easy it was to pin Thomas to the cabin’s lockers, how the bigger man moaned as Alfred slid a hand beneath that stupid, ugly shirt and used the other hand to pin Thomas’ hands above his head. How alone they felt on a ship carrying 2,600 men, like they were a desert island in a sea of cold metal and noise. The small, needy noises of protest that fell from his lover’s lips when Alfred pulled back for air._)

Once they separated, Thomas winced.

“Bleh,” he whined, “You have coffee mouth.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, reaching past Thomas to grab his clothes from the desk. He dressed quickly in dark denim jeans and a faded grey shirt that he swore had been white once, tugged on his work boots. As he reached for his leather jacket, Thomas batted his hand away.

“Trust me, it’s too hot for that,” he said, “Though it’s not as hot as you.”

Alfred stared him down with an unimpressed look as Thomas tried- and failed- to wink at him.

“Do you have your wallet?” He asked instead of responding.

“Yes,” Thomas said, pulling it out and waving it in Alfred’s face, “Now, to the Noritake outlet!”

“No, first to double-check our leave permissions, then to the outlet,” Alfred replied, ushering Thomas out the door and in the right direction.

“Ugh, must you be right all the time?”

“The only reason I am constantly right is to balance out you being constantly wrong.”

“Stop bullying me, you cad.”

Forty minutes later, they stepped into the china shop. Thomas immediately migrated towards a set of garishly decorated tea cups.

“No,” said Alfred, grabbing him by the collar.

“No?”

“No, Tomcat. Do you honestly think she’d like it?”

Thomas began to sulk.

“No, I suppose she wouldn’t,” he grumbled.

“What colours does she like?”

“Well, uh, you see, she…she wears a lot of blue?”

“Dark blue? Light blue?’

“All kinds of blue?”

“…we’ll try a different route. What kind of jewellery does she wear?”

“Pearls. I bought her some last year, a double-stranded necklace of south sea pearls.”

“What sort of metals in her jewellery?”

“Silver, I think.”

“Dare I ask if you know what kind of flowers she likes?”

“She grows roses, I’m pretty sure.”

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I should like to meet your wife,” he said, “So that I may commend her on her remarkable kindness for not divorcing you yet.”

“I feel very insulted,” Thomas said to the bemused clerk, “I thought we were friends and now he’s insulting me.”

Alfred sighed heavily.

“Have you got anything in cool-toned colours with a rose design?” He asked the clerk.

“Yes,” the man said in the slow drawl of a bored retail worker, “Pattern 5851, Rosamor. Would you like me to show it to you?”

“Yes, please.”

The clerk nodded and ducked into the back room, emerging a few minutes later with a wooden crate. He set in on the counter and opened it, pulling a dinner plate out. The pattern was in soft dark and light greys, with platinum and ice blue accents on the leaves and rim.

Thomas gasped.

“It’s perfect,” he declared, “Martha will love it. I’d like to order service for twenty-four and every last accessory you offer in this pattern.”

“Only twenty-four?” Alfred snarked.

“And more than that, Alfredo, and I’d be buying her a new table, too.”

“Posh bastard.”

Thomas ignored him and continued to make his purchase and arrange for it to be shipped back to New Jersey.

* * *

“So that’s where that set comes from,” Bruce muttered.

“Master Bruce, do please shut up while I am telling my story.”

“…sorry.”

“Thank you. Thomas posted a letter off to Martha, and then…”

* * *

They walked along a quiet stretch of beach, only speaking to remark on some aspect of the landscape. Thomas kept stopping to pick up bits of shell and sea glass, which he would examine thoroughly and either leave behind or shove in one of his pockets.

“You’re going to add another ton to the Lexington’s displacement, Tomcat,” Alfred said, unable to keep the fondness out of his voice.

“The other minutemen bring contraband booze and porn magazines and other such mundane nonsense. This is a far more sensible collection.”

“Yes, your shells and broken glass are very sensible.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Oh, I’ll do a lot more than just kiss it.”

Thomas blushed an undignified, blotchy red and swatted Alfred on the arm.

“Don’t say things like that,” he hissed, barely audible over Alfred’s peals of laughter, “You’ll send me to an early grave.”

“And what a terrible death you’d die, being killed by an excess of love.”

The ‘L’ word hung in the air between them like a hanged man from a noose. Thomas stared at him, eyes and mouth wide open in astonishment. Alfred opened his mouth to explain himself, found that he did not have the words, and closed it again. They remained in tense, uncomfortable silence for a few more long, agonizing minutes before Thomas began to laugh.

“I’ll be leaving, then,” Alfred snapped, turning to leave.

“Wait,” gasped Thomas, seizing Alfred’s arm, “I’m sorry, shit, I didn’t mean…fuck, can I have a redo on my reaction?”

Alfred just stared stonily at him.

“Okay, shit, I’m sorry, Alf, I just…I was thinking, you know, what a pair we make, falling for each other so quickly.”

“What are you saying, Thomas?”

“I’m in love with you, too.”

This was not the first time Alfred had heard those words, but it was the first time that they had made him feel like the Earth had suddenly been jolted out of orbit and was now spinning wildly towards it’s doom in the depths of the universe. His heart pounded in his ears, and he knew that he had been quiet for too long but, somehow, he couldn’t reply.

“What?” He said at last.

“Well, that’s hardly better than my reaction,” Thomas muttered.

“But…Martha?”

“Informed of my feelings for you in the letter I just posted. I still love her, I can’t conceive of a moment in the future where I won’t love her, but I can’t just ignore the feelings I have for you. I’m not that kind of man. Ideally, I would wind up with the both of you, but I…well, I don’t know what that would look like. How it would work, you know.”

“I haven’t a bloody clue, either,” Alfred said, “But, if Martha agrees, then I will be willing to try this. Unless this is just secretly a scheme of yours to obtain a harem of blue-eyed beauties.”

“Martha would cheerfully lop my balls off if I tried that. She always says, ‘three’s company, but forty concubines are a reason to kill my husband.’”

Alfred laughed.

“Yes, I’m sure she says that. Let’s keep walking, we’ve only a short while before we’re due back to the ship.”

(_Of course, that conversation didn’t end like that. Yes, they said all those things, and they did keep walking, but only a few minutes later, as they were tucked away in a small sea cave, Alfred turned to Thomas. The doctor was babbling about some legend that Alfred would ask him to retell that night._

_He slid a hand to rest at the base of Thomas’ skull. Thomas’ mouth snapped shut and he turned to meet Alfred’s gaze head-on. Alfred smiled and raised his other hand to frame that strong jawline, brushing a thumb over Thomas’ lower lip. Tomas opened his mouth and his eyes fluttered shut, clearly waiting to be gagged or kissed, so Alfred leaned in and obliged him. _

_It was a chaste kiss, and Alfred pulled back a few seconds later. Thomas whined in protest and tried to move forward, but Alfred tugged him back by his hair. _

_“I’ve made another decision, Tomcat,” he said cheerfully, “We’re not having sex again until Martha gets back to you and then if she gives you the go-ahead.” _

_Thomas started laughing. _

_“Good one, Alfredo…oh, no. You weren’t joking, were you?” _

_“Indeed, I was not.” _

_“Don’t tell me you’re punishing me for laughing when you dropped the love word.” _

_“Fine, then, I won’t tell you.” _

_“Ugh. Can we at least make out?” _

_“No.”_

_“Not even kissing?” _

_“Fine, we can kiss. No tongue and I’m timing you for a thirty second maximum.” _

_Alfred turned on his heel and left the cave, smiling as he heard Thomas let out a dismayed cry behind him._)

* * *

Date: March 2, 1961

Location: Pacific Ocean off of the coast of Formosa

Coordinates: 25°02′N 121°85′E

Thomas arrived at dinner with a stack of letters in his hand.

“COD flew in today,” he announced, “And I’ve a letter from my wife.”

“Ooh,” teased one of the navigators, “Everyone, Thomas’ wife has written him. She’s probably told him she’s leaving him for a better man.”

“Fuck off, I’m a wealthy, good-looking doctor who’s also a naval officer. What man is going to win out over that?”

“The same sort of man, but one who isn’t a naval officer who spends most of his time away from home,” Alfred replied dryly.

“Oh shit, Alfredo strikes again,” yelled the navigator. Whistles and hollers rang out through the officer’s mess.

“Alright, pipe down,” the exec called, “Leave poor Tomcat alone. He’s having a rough day, what with his wife divorcing him and all.”

“She’s not divorcing me! Martha loves me very much and would never abandon me.”

“Tomcat, we’re sailing the Pacific, not the great river in Egypt.”

“One of these days, Farney, I’m going to fling you overboard and make sure they never find your body.”

After supper, Thomas and Alfred retreated to their room. Thomas snatched up the letter opener before the door was even shut.

**Dearest Thomas, **

**Thank you for the very lovely set of china. I presume I have your Alfred to thank for its elegance, since you have the taste level of a pre-Revolution French aristocrat. **

**On the topic of your Alfred, your description of him was very flattering. If he is half the man you say he is- and I have always found you to be an excellent judge of character- he will be an excellent second partner for you. Note that I said ‘partner’ and not ‘man who buggers you while you’re away from your wife.’ It seems that I should have been clearer when I was explaining my idea to you four years ago. I do not mind if you have other partners of a sexual and/or romantic nature. Do please feel free to pursue a more emotional relationship with Alfred, and if you are still together upon your return to San Diego, I should like to meet him. **

**Now, on to a more pressing matter…**

It was at this point that it became clear to the men that the letter was meant to have a second page and that it had somehow been lost.

“Should we be concerned?” Alfred asked.

Thomas shrugged.

“No, I’ll just write her and ask what happened.”

“Hm. She was more…open to the idea of us than I thought.”

“Isn’t she incredible?” Thomas beamed, “Now, please, Alfie, it’s been almost a month. May I kiss you?”

“No,” Alfred replied, leaning off the bed to grab Thomas by the tie, “I want to kiss you first.”

And so he did.

* * *

“Was she pregnant?”

“Was who pregnant, Master Bruce?”

“My mother.”

Alfred let out a long and weary sigh.

“Master Bruce, you were born several years after this story takes place. Exactly how did you think your mother’s pregnancy was feasible?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Bruce grumbled stubbornly, “Maybe she didn’t carry it to term, or maybe I have a sibling you never told me about. It seems like you didn’t tell me about a lot of things.”

“Ah, yes, my mistake, your sister is Selina Kyle. I never mentioned it to you because I thought it would make your liaisons more awkward.”

“…seriously?”

“No, Master Bruce, I was not serious. We’ll get to your mother’s dilemma in a short while. And, to be clear, we did intend to tell you about our relationship. Unfortunately, the night we had planned to do it was the night they…passed. I’d always assumed you’d figured it out based on something you said to me at their funeral, but I should have still told you. For that, Master Bruce, I am truly sorry.”

Bruce mumbled something that sent Clark’s eyebrows shooting towards his hairline.

“Care to share with the class, B?” Dick teased.

“…you can just call us by our first names, Alfred, I told you that years ago. But now I’m calling bullshit on your ‘it would be inappropriate for a member of staff’ excuse.”

Terry gasped.

“Tate, don’t say bad words,” he scolded.

“Ters, you said ‘fuck,’ like, two hours ago,” Tim pointed out.

“But I’m not a role model!”

Bruce liked mildly horrified at the implication that he was a role model.

“Guys, c’mon, I wanna hear the rest of the story,” Jon whined.

“Thank you, Ma- er, Jon. In June of our cruise…”

* * *

Date: June 16, 1961

Location: Wan Chai District, British Oversees Territory of Hong Kong.

Coordinates:22°16′47″N 114°10′18″E

They were sharing a bottle of rice wine in a seedy bar frequented by US sailors when Thomas broached the subject of the future for the first time.

“I’ve decided not to reenlist,” he said, “Told my superiors it’s high time my wife and I start a family. I’ll be returning to Gotham at the end of our cruise.”

“I see,” Alfred replied, not entirely certain why Thomas was telling him this.

“Would you like to move into the Manor with Martha and I?”

It took Alfred a few moments to collect a response.

“Would that I could, but I’ve only a month of leave from my service, and I still owe the crown two years of my life. But…I would be happy to spend that month with you, and, if you would have me, I would return after my service is up.”

“That sounds amenable to everyone,” Thomas replied cheerfully, “Let’s drink to it.”

A group of Marines poured into the bar as the pair set down their cups. The group was obviously intoxicated and their uniforms showed them to be from the Lexington.

“Oh, great,” grumbled Thomas, “Now the jarheads are spreading their fucking pubic lice to the good citizens of Hong Kong.”

Alfred snorted, drawing the attention of the Marine’s leader. He staggered over to them, followed by his loyal lackeys.

“Well, lookit what we have here, boys. One o’ them English dogs-”

“I’m Scottish, thank you.”

“- ‘n the idjit doctor. Daddy’s money can buy a degree ‘n rank ‘n a beautiful wife, but it can’t buy brains, huh?”

Thomas stayed quiet, focus intently on a bit of the wall. He had the tight posture, clenched jaw, and dejected look of a man that had heard this all before but had never been defended.

And Alfred knew Thomas. More specifically, he knew that Thomas was the sort of man who would not defend himself.

Suddenly, Alfred was very, very angry.

The Marine was still talking.

“What, no reply? Are you deaf as well as ret-”

_Crack!_

The Marine was lying on the floor, staring up at Alfred in shock as blood leaked out of his broken nose. Alfred stood over him, knuckles throbbing, glaring down at him with a vicious grin on his face.

“Oh, my apologies,” he said calmly, “There was something hideously ugly on your face, and I thought I’d take care of it for you, but it seems that it _was _your face. My mistake.”

“You’re gonna pay for that, asshole!” The Marine yelled.

Alfred sighed.

“God, could you be a little more cliché?” He said before kicking the man in the balls.

One of the other Marines lunged at him. Alfred dodged his punch easily, tripping the man a letting his momentum carry him forward to knock him unconscious on the bar. As Alfred rose up from his dodge, he punched out the next man, laying him out on the uneven plank floor. Then one came from the side, aiming for a low punch. Alfred kicked up, hitting him in the shoulder. The man let out a cry of pain before collecting himself and rounding for a punch with his other arm. Alfred punched him in the jaw.

He dispatched the other Marines just as quickly, leaving them groaning or unconscious on the ground of the bar. He had just barely broken a sweat. Panting a bit, he turned to Thomas.

The doctor was staring at him, mouth open in shock. The other patrons of the bar were also staring at him.

“Er,” said Alfred, “My hand slipped?”

Thomas didn’t reply, just grabbed him by the arm and pulled him out of the bar. He sped through the streets, towing Alfred back to the Lexington.

Once they had boarded and returned to their cabin, Thomas shoved Alfred onto the bed.

“Take off your shirt,” he ordered.

“That’s a bit forward of-”

“Not what I meant. Just do it.”

Dutifully, Alfred removed his shirt and chucked it into their laundry pile as Thomas rifled through their desk drawers. He finally pulled out a back bag and carried it over to the bed. He then proceeded to climb into Alfred’s lap and straddle him.

“You’re going to want to hold still for this,” he cautioned.

“What on earth are you tal- Thomas, that had better not be what I think it is.”

“And what do you think it is?” Thomas said innocently, wielding the tattoo gun he’d pulled out of the bag with a casual familiarity.

“Do you even know how to use that thing?”

“Of course I do! I’m the best tattoo artist on the Lexington. My services are in high demand!”

“Fine, then why are you tattooing me?”

"Navy tradition states that any man who wins a bar fight in a foreign port bears two nautical stars on his chest. One red, one green.”

“Hmm. Well, what if I don’t want them?  
“Then I won’t force you.”

“I would accept, Tomcat, but we spies aren’t supposed to have identifying marks.”

“Oh, please, just cover them up with makeup. It’s what my wife does.”

“Martha has tattoos- you know what? I’m not actually that surprised by that. I presume you gave them to her?”

“Of course I did. Also, you’re stalling. Am I tattooing you or not?”

Alfred thought about it for a few moments.

“Yes,” he said, “Damn the crown, I’ll take the risk.”

“Great,” Thomas replied cheerfully, “This is only going to hurt quite a bit.”

(_Of course, this was not the only thanks Alfred got for defending Thomas’ honour, as after Thomas had put the finishing touches on the second star, he got up, set the tattoo supplies on the desk, and got on his knees._

_“May I?” He asked, gesturing at Alfred’s crotch. _

_“Be my guest,” Alfred replied. The fight has already gotten him keyed up, and a lapful of gorgeous, focused Thomas certainly hadn’t helped. _

_“Thanks,” Thomas said. He quickly unzipped Alfred’s pants and reaching into his boxers, pulling out his cock. _

_“Martha has you so well trained, thanking people before you service the- dear god,” he broke off as Thomas deepthroated him, “How is it that I always forget that you can do that?” _

_Thomas made an amused noise, which sent pleasant vibrations dancing along Alfred’s cock. He groaned, throwing his head back and almost hitting it on the underside of Thomas’ bunk. The doctor took this as an indication to begin moving. He pulled back before taking a breath and leaning back in, wrapping his hand around Alfred’s cock and sliding it down, chasing after it with his tongue. He pressed a cheeky kiss to the end of Alfred’s happy trail before licking a stripe up his cock and deep throating him again. _

_A handful of minutes of Thomas’ skilled ministrations later, Alfred was almost at his breaking point. _

_“Thomas, I’m warning you- fuck.” _

_Thomas had pulled off and wrapped his lips around the tip of Alfred’s cock, swivelling his tongue around the head and sending Alfred over the edge. Thomas didn’t pull back, swallowing as much cum as he could. Some leaked out of his mouth, and once Alfred had finished, Thomas pulled off, wiped the excess off with his thumb, and licked it clean. _

_“You’re a marvel,” Alfred said to him, “Need a hand?”_

_“No, I was jacking myself off the entire time. You are, however, contractually obligated to lie down with me for a bit before we have to clean up,” Thomas replied cheerfully as he stripped off all his clothes. Alfred slid his pants off the rest of the way and jammed himself against the wall of the bunk. Thomas joined him. _

_It wasn’t comfortable- no Navy bunk could ever be described as such, no matter how attractive the company- but it was better by far than being alone. Alfred hissed as Thomas brushed against his sore chest. _

_“Sorry,” Thomas whispered, lips against Alfred’s lips. He kissed him gently, and Alfred pressed closer to him, running his hands over the smooth, tanned expanse of Thomas’ skin. _

_“You know, I’ve never met a tattoo artist and navy man without tattoos before,” he teased after they broke their lips apart. _

_Thomas huffed. _

_“That’s Martha’s fault. She wants to be the one to tattoo me and she isn’t done with her training yet.” _

_“Women can be possessive in the strangest ways,” joked Alfred. _

_“Fuck off, I can tell you think it’s hot, you cad. Besides, you were the one who beat the shit out of seven guys for me.” _

_Alfred’s face fell.)_

“Why didn’t you defend yourself, Tomcat?”

Thomas shrugged.

“Those are all things I’ve heard before. Money like the kind I have, it invites that sort of talk of bribery. I’ve never let it get to me. The people who matter to me know how I truly am, and that’s all I need.

“And as for the…other thing, well, I grew up with that. I don’t fit the mould that all men are supposed to and I’ve never seen much point in trying. I don’t fit in and everyone assumes that means there’s something wrong with me. Hell, my own parents thought so. Point is, if I fought everyone who ever said shit like that about me, I’d never stop fighting people, and I don’t want to live like that.”

“Then I’ll fight them,” Alfred suggested. He’d always been more of a brawler, anyway, so it wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.

Thomas laughed.

“My gallant knight,” he teased, “Just knowing that you care enough to do so is enough for me. But, seriously, where the hell did you learn to fight like that?”

Alfred snorted.

“First on my home isle, and then in my…division. I have always been the sort of man who hit first. Plus, I’ve always been decently strong, and so decided a good many years ago to use my strength solely for the benefit of others and the occasional, necessary bit of self-defence.”

“How chivalrous,” Thomas mused, “I suppose that you also never had a girlfriend when you were a boy, lest your presence despoil her reputation.”

“Shows what you know. Caitrìona despoiled my reputation more than I ever could have hers. Of course, we were only together for a bit of a lark, to make people think we weren’t…bent. You know how it is on small islands.”

“I’m afraid I don’t, Alfredo. I’m a city slicker through and through.”

“…Perhaps Martha will be able to understand my childhood better.”

Thomas laughed.

“If you think that Barra is anything like Long Island, you’ve got another thing coming.”

* * *

“You’re from Barra?” Bruce asked.

“I was born there, yes. My mother was the last babe born of Beáranaraigh and my father moved to Barraigh from Stroma when he was a boy. Those were the days when you almost never heard an English word between locals, as we had very few tourists. I expect that’s changed, now, but I haven’t been back since…oh, nineteen fifty-three, when I left for England…why are you lot staring at me?”

“You haven’t been home in sixty-six years?” Dick shrieked.

Alfred took a sip of his tea.

“Well, no,” he said, “My father abandoned us when I was nine, and my mother died when I was sixteen. I had three sisters. Athdara went to Harris, where she is still a weaver today. I’ve seen her a few times in the past few years, but she is nigh-impossible to nail down. Moire stayed in Barraigh, married a local man, and died, oh…forty years ago. I don’t recall of what. Fionnula, she married one of the men of Muldoanich, and I suspect she died in the massacre fifteen years ago. We never heard anything from her after she wedded, which was typical of those who went off to that isle.”

“You’ve never told me any of this,” Bruce said. His voice was calm but his eyes showed genuine hurt.

“My memories of my homeland are not happy ones,” Alfred admitted, “The reason I have neglected to mention my childhood to you is not that…not that I don’t think you deserving of hearing them, but because I spent most of my adult life avoiding tell of them. I loved the isles, I really did, but the better parts of my life occurred in this house, with this family. I left Aillig behind on a fishing vessel at the An t-Òban dock to become Alfred, and by the time I came to know you, Ma-Bruce, I had been Alfred for any more years than I spend as Aillig. And my relationship with your parents…Martha and Thomas were very dear to me, but when they died, I set aside that aspect of my life, and I have tried to spend as little time as possible thinking of them. They were the first family I had as Alfred, but…you, raising you, it took precedent over my own grief. I think, had I not had you, I might not have survived their loss, and all throughout the years after it I have struggled to keep it from overcoming me. Many a time I have wanted to give into it, to let myself wallow and become useless, but all of you, you have needed me throughout these many years, and your need, and, more importantly, your care, the love that you have brought into my life has sustained me, and it has made me loathe to admit that I have a past I would rather forget.”

There were a few moments of silence as his speech settled in.

“Well,” Tim replied at last, “Now you kinda have to tell us. Not right now, obviously, but in, like, the future. Because if you assholes have taught me anything, _Bruce_, it’s that we have to depend on each other. Because that’s how families work.”

“Tim is right. If you are to know our secrets, it is only fair that we know yours,” Damian declared.

“I know,” Alfred sighed, “I just…I did not want to burden you, I suppose.”

Bruce stood, striding over to Alfred and perching himself rather comically on the arm of the older man’s chair.

“Alfred,” he said, very grave and more than a bit awkward, “I have, uh, put you through a lot over the years. Stop laughing at me, all of you, I’m trying to be meaningful. Anyways, I’ve not been the best-behaved child, or an easy child, or even a very responsible one. But you’ve…you’ve stuck by me, during everything, and you’ve made it possible for me to achieve all that I have. And, uh, that…that means a lot. So, um, well…”

“You can do it, B!” Dick whisper-cheered. Cass gave Bruce a thumbs-up with both hands and an encouraging smile.

“…what I’m trying to say is, that, well, I want to know these things about you. And I want to help support you, too, because, you, um. You matter to me. A lot. Like, a lot. You, um, are a father to me. So I want to support you, too.”

Alfred gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Oof,” he uttered as he was tackled in a hug by Bruce. There were distinctive camera clicks from Tim’s direction.

Alfred froze up, never particularly certain how to react to physical contact. After a few seconds, he relaxed and returned the hug.

Bruce released him after about a minute, getting up to return to his place beside Clark on the ugly beige loveseat that had been bought to replace the nice living room furniture when Tim started falling asleep with Zestis in his hand. All of the assembled family members stared at Alfred expectantly.

He sighed again.

“Alright,” he said, “Those next few months were decently boring, so I’ll just skip forward to-” he paused for dramatic effect- “_Martha_.”

* * *

Date: September 5, 1961

Location: Naval Station, San Diego, California, USA>

Coordinates: 32°42’51” N 117°09’45” W

“Are you _sure _you haven’t left anything?”

“Yes, Tomcat,” Alfred said patiently, “I am sure.”

“Oh. Okay. If you’re sure.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Sorry. I’m nervous. I haven’t seen Martha in so long and I’m…”

“Nervous?” Alfred said.

“Well, yes, that would be the word for it.”

“No time like the present, then,” Alfred replied, reaching out to open the door.

“Oh, c’mon, Alfredo. One kiss for good luck?”

Alfred took one look at Thomas’ pouting face and sighed.

“Alright,” he said, “Close your eyes.”

Thomas did so, and Alfred quickly kissed him on the cheek before ducking out the door.

“You son of a bitch!” Thomas shrieked, chasing after him. They dashed through the empty, cramped halls of the nearly deserted warship, their footsteps echoing like the thud of her long guns. They made their way to her exit, pausing just before they disembarked.

“Thanks for a good four years, Lex,” Thomas said, patting the ship’s wall mournfully.

“It has indeed been a rather exemplary nine months,” Alfred agreed.

They stood in silence for a moment.

“How do I look?” Alfred asked.

“Gorgeous. How do I look?”

“As perfect as a Caravaggio. Now, let’s go meet your wife.”

They winced as they stepped out into the sunlight, waving through the other sailors as they scanned the crowd for Martha.

“Ooh, Tomcat, looking for your wife”

“Shut up, Farney,” Thomas groaned.

“I’ll help! So, we’re looking for the _infamous _Martha. I’m thinking we’re looking for a petite, gentle woman. Alfredo, thoughts?”

Alfred shrugged.

“I’ve only ever seen one pic-”

“_THOMAS DAVID WAYNE_,” bellowed an angry voice from their right.

Thomas paled.

“Is that…?” Alfred asked.

“Yes, I do believe it is,” Thomas said faintly. Farney disappeared into the crowd and Alfred took a step away from Thomas.

Martha soon emerged from the crowd. She was a very, very tall woman, roughly six foot three, and had a strong, athletic build. Her black hair was swept up into a complicated updo, her soft pink lipstick-clad lips pressed into a harsh line. She wore a royal blue dress, fitted in the top and poofing at the waist. She was in a pair of tall black leather stiletto pumps that matched her black leather handbag.

Too put it a lot more simply, she was so beautiful that she stunned Alfred silent.

“Hello, Martha dear- ow!” Thomas cried out as he was whacked over the head with a very stylish handbag.

“You _fucking _dumbass! One letter! I got one goddamn letter in the nine months that you were away!”

“Wait, wh- ow!”

“One!” _Whack_. “Fucking!” _Whack_. “Letter!” _Whack_.

“Okay, okay- fuck, Martha, quit hitting me with the Hermes Kelly bag, it’s very expensive and I prefer to be hit with Italian lea- ow!”

“I am very sorry to interrupt this bit of…discipline…but I must state that I witnessed Thomas write you many a letter during our time on the ship,” Alfred interjected.

“Yeah, and I posted them in the mailbox outside our cabin!” Thomas said defensively.

“The what?” Alfred asked.

“You know, the mail slot by the storeroom?”

Alfred pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily.

“Tomcat,” he said, exhausted, “That was not a mail slot. That was a trash can.”

“Ah,” Thomas replied faintly, “Oops?”

“Tommy, you’re such a fucking dumbass,” Martha said fondly.

“Well, that was a tur-mph.”

Thomas was interrupted by Martha kissing him violently.

“Damn,” Farney said, “I could have not been more wrong about her.”

The couple separated, and Martha focused her sharp, steel-blue eyes on Alfred.

“You must be Alfred,” she said, “Thomas, you undersold him in your letter.”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Joked Farney.

“Hello, Nurse. I saw your fiancé just now. She seems…annoyed.”

“Oh, God. Bye, Tomcat, Alfredo! Stay in touch!”

“Bye, Farney!” Thomas yelled after him as he disappeared into the crowd.

Martha cleared her throat.

“Darling, as much as I would love to hang around, I’ve gotten us lunch reservations at the Café la Maze.”

Thomas let out a moan.

“You’re perfect,” he said.

The cab ride to the restaurant was quiet and short. Once they were seated inside the lavish dinner, Martha gave Thomas a look.

“Yes, dear, I’ll leave you two alone,” he said, rolling his eyes as he rose.

Alfred could not help but feel like it was no accident that they were in a booth far away from the other diners.

“So,” she said, “My husband speaks very highly of you.”

“He speaks very highly of you as well.”

“Thomas is like that when he’s in love.”

Alfred broke a little bit. Martha took a long sip of her drink, calmly watching him.

“You really are fine with this, then?” He said at last.

Martha shrugged.

“Of course. Thomas, he…he is very loving. He cares so deeply for everyone he cares for that I could not deny him any opportunity for affection. And it isn’t as if this arrangement doesn’t have benefits for me as well.”

“And those are?”

“I have found-” she leaned into Alfred’s personal space, a conspiratorial grin emerging- “that Thomas has _excellent _taste.”

“Ms. Wayne,” Alfred said, faintly, “Are you, perhaps, flirting with me?”

“Hm. Took you long enough to figure it out.”

* * *

“We took the train back to Gotham,” Alfred said, “Where we-”

“Wait a minute. Aren’t you skipping a ton of things?” Dick asked.

“Hm?”

“You just skipped, like, an entire train journey. Didn’t anything interesting happen?”

“Well...” Alfred trailed off, wincing as he recalled just what, exactly, had occurred on that train.

* * *

(_They had a lovely dinner in the dining car of the _Super Chief _before retiring to their room. It had been made up for the night, all three beds already dressed._

_“I am retiring,” Thomas announced dramatically. He stripped naked, slipping into a set of silk satin pyjamas in a lovely shade of dark green. He clambered into the top bunk, shoved a pair of earbuds in, and closed the curtains around his bunk._

_Martha shrugged. _

_“I’m going to get cleaned up for bed,” she said, “Feel free to get into something more comfortable and do please pour us each a glass of that lovely Meritage.” _

_She ducked into the bathroom, leaving Alfred to change. He switched his Royal Navy uniform for a singlet and a pair of comfortable brushed cotton pyjama bottoms. He poured two substantial glasses of red wine and sat down at the table to wait for Martha._

_She emerged a few minutes later, wearing a blue satin robe that reached the floor. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, exposing the long, smooth expanse of her neck. The dim lighting of the train car made her eyes seem darker than normal. _

_“What do you think of the wine?” She asked as she sat down. _

_“It’s…interesting.” _

_“Not much of a wine man, then.” _

_He shrugged. _

_“I’m fairly neutral,” he replied, taking another sip. _

_She took one as well, waiting until he had swallowed to speak again. _

_“Thomas is such a lovely little bitch in bed, isn’t he?” _

_Alfred choked on his breath, staring at her with wide eyes. Martha guffawed. _

_“I’m sorry,” she wheezed, “Your _face_.” _

_“Well, that is hardly a commonly heard phrase,” he defended, hiding his blush behind his glass. _

_“But you didn’t deny it.” _

_“True, he is such a masochist. That stunt on the pier today, about preferring to be hit with Italian leather? He’s regular tabloid fodder.” _

_“Ugh, don’t remind me of those stupid newspapers. Tom gets so keyed up when he’s at sea. He’s not so bad this time, and I suppose I have you to thank for that.” _

_“I made do with what we had. He _adores _being done up with his dress uniform.” _

_“Ooh, tell me more.” _

_“Well, after we got back from an event in our dress blues, he was rubbing against me in the hall, horny as all hell. So I got him in our room, asked him what kind of sex he wanted, and in that sweet, embarrassed voice he gets, he asks me to _please _dominate him.” _

_“Mmm.” _

_“So, I stripped him down and used his belt to fasten his wrists together over his head, then used my belt to secure them to the top rail of the upper bunk, leaving him standing. Then I blindfolded him, and I…didn’t touch him for another ten minutes.” _

_“Oh, you’re evil. I love it. Did he whine?”_

_“He did. But his dick was hard the entire time and he never safe worded out, and after we were done that night, he kept insisting we had to do that again sometime. I’ve never had a partner with energy like his.” _

_“Me neither. He loves being teased,” she said fondly, “Which is why I’ve devised a master plan to tease the hell out of him.” _

_“Oh?” Alfred asked. _

_Martha grinned at him and stood up, untying her robe. She slipped it off her shoulders, letting it fall to a smooth satin puddle on the floor. _

_She stood before him in a black satin and lace bra with matching panties and garter belt. Her legs were stocking-clad, and she still wore those lovely, impractical black stilettos. _

_“At the risk of sounding repetitive,” he said, mildly amused, “Martha, are you trying to seduce me?” _

_She laughed and glided forward, climbing into his lap so that her legs framed his. She wrapped her arms gently around his neck and drew closer to him until breasts brushed against his chest._

_“What do you think?” She whispered. _

_Alfred grinned. _

_“I think,” he replied, “That you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and that you are wearing far too many clothes. May I?” _

_She nodded, and he ran his hands up the smooth expanse of her back until he reached the clasp of her bra. He undid it, and they slid the bra off of her. Alfred set it gently on the table and leaned back to better appreciate her. _

_Her lines were a lot harsher than Thomas’, but she still had the softness that came from growing up in wealth. Her nipples stood on edge from the moderate chill of the train carriage. The bra had also concealed a rather lovely tattoo of a compass rose between her breasts. _

_He brushed it gently with his fingers and she shuddered. _

_“Thomas’ work?” He said softly. _

_“He does a remarkable job, doesn’t he?”_

_“I heard that you’re a right hand at it yourself.” _

_“Hmm,” she said, “We’ll have to see. I’m finally ready to mark Thomas. I think he’ll look rather smashing once I’m done with him.” _

_“I’d love to see you…work on him.” _

_“Why, Mr. Pennyworth,” she said with mock outrage, “What a forward suggestion.” _

_He raised an eyebrow at her and tweaked her nipples with his fingers._

_“Ah, point,” she moaned. _

_Alfred leaned forward and sucked a hickey onto her collarbone, still playing with her nipples. She moaned again, tilting her head back to expose her neck, and he followed, leaving a line of hickeys from her collarbone to just below her earlobe. _

_“Oh, Tom is going to _kill _us,” she said gleefully once Alfred pulled back. He grinned back at her. _

_“Speaking of Tomcat,” he said, slipping a finger under her garter strap and stroking her thigh, “It seems to me that I owe a certain someone a good deal of thanks for allowing me access to him.” _

_“You have my attention.” _

_“Tell me, Martha,” he said conversationally as he slid his other hand down to cup her pussy, “When was the last time that this saw the affection of a tongue?” _

_“Mmm, I don’t…” _

_Alfred lifted her garter strap up with his finger, raising it to a few inches above her thigh before letting it snap back down._

_She yelped, snapping out of her lusty haze. _

_ “A real answer, please, Martha.” _

_“…a week ago, from a woman at a bar.” _

_“Marvellous. I would hate to hear that your pussy had been neglected while your husband was off being fucked by me.” _

_She blushed._

_“Now, Martha,” he whispered in her ear as he slid his hand into her panties and brushed his fingers over her clit, “Shall we move this to the bed?” _

_“We can move this wherever you want as long as I orgasm in the next ten minutes.” _

_“Mmm, bossy. Stand up and take your shoes and panties off, please.” _

_She did so, tucking her shoes out of the way under the bunk and setting the panties, garter belt, and stockings beside her bra. Alfred stood as well and stripped off his pyjamas, standing before her completely nude. _

_“Well,” she said, “I can definitely see what was driving Thomas so mad.” _

_Alfred rolled his eyes. _

_“Please, Martha, I’ve never stuck it up his ass. There’s no way to properly fuck on a Navy ship.” _

_“Oh?” Her eyes were gleaming with a peculiar villainy. _

_“…you want me to fuck you, now, don’t you?” _

_“Duh,” she replied, “Now, Alfred, be a doll and ravish me.” _

_He did a small courtly bow. _

_“Your wish is my command, m’lady.” _

_A few hours later, Martha flipped herself over underneath him and let out a content sigh. _

_“I’m keeping you,” she said, laying a manicured hand on the side of his face. _

_“Well, that is a stellar endorsement of my capabilities if I’ve ever heard one.” _

_She whacked him gently over the hand, giggling. _

_“Let’s get some sleep.” _

_“Alright. Goodnight, Martha.” _

_“Goodnight, Alfred. I’m glad Thomas stole you from the Brits.” _

_“…I have found myself most grateful for that happenstance as well.” _

_They awoke a few hours later to a shriek. Thomas was standing beside the bunk they were sharing, pointing at them. _

_“You two fucked without me?” _

_“You’ve had sole claim to his dick for the last nine months. It was my turn,” Martha said. _

_“Ugh,” Thomas pouted. _

_“He really is fabulous in bed. Well done, darling.” _

_“I know, right? Did he do that thing with his tongue on your nipples where he kind of swirls it? I’ve been trying it on him but I just can’t nail the technique.” _

_“He didn’t! Alfred, wake up. I want to try this.” _

_“Alfred is closed at the moment. Try again during business hours.” _

_“…I suppose I _did _keep you up a bit late. Tom, let’s experiment with this technique in the shower.” _

_Martha got up and the duo left the room. _

_Oh, god,” Alfred grumbled, “I’ve gotten myself into a relationship with two morning people.” _)

* * *

“Yes, Dick, I am sure nothing of interest happened on the train. We just spent the time getting to know each other.”

“Okay,” Dick replied, clearly dubious.

“So, when we arrived in the Gotham Train Station, the Wayne’s chauffeur picked us up and drove us to the Manor…”

* * *

The drive up the hill gradually revealed a massive house, done in the Scots Baronial style. The chauffeur pulled up in front of the entrance and stopped the car.

“I hope you like the house,” Thomas said, “I’ve had to redecorate the entire damn thing after my parents died.”

“Suddenly I am concerned.”

“Fuck you, Alfredo.”

Alfred laughed as they exited the car and all the way up to the front door.

It opened and he quit laughing.

“Welcome back, Master Wa- Aillig?”

Alfred saw red and punched his long-lost father in the face.

* * *

“Woah,” Jason said, “What are the fucking odds?”

“They were very, very low,” Alfred grumbled, “But that didn’t seem to matter to the universe.”

“It never does,” Tim said.

“I didn’t make amends with my father, but I did spend a lovely month with Martha and Thomas before setting off on another mission. The next two years of my life are…classified is putting it mildly. When next the story of my relationship picks up, I had just arrived in New York and we met at a café, where they told me that my father had died. It was then that I got an idea. Obviously, we could never have gone public with a relationship like ours at the time, but no one would question me accompanying them if I was their butler and bodyguard. And so that is what I officially became.”

“You were never acknowledged publicly?” Damian asked sadly.

“No, I was not.”

“So that is why you are not in any of their portraits.”

“Yes, the only pictures I have of me with them are in a more…platonic context.”

“I’m sorry,” Tim said, “That really sucks.”

“I have made my peace with it. I have so many memorabilia of them, from the tattoos they gave me to the most precious thing that they ever made.”

Bruce looked confused for a moment before figuring out that Alfred was referring to him. He hid his smile by ducking his head.

“Well,” Alfred said, “I think that is all the stories this old man has left in him tonight. Off to bed, you lot.”

* * *

Damian waited until he was certain that Alfred had left for the store before he began snaking around the house. He was crouched in the portrait hall, examining one of the paintings.

“What’re you up to, scamp?”

Damian jumped, turning around to glare at Jason.

“I am doing nothing.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Fine. If you must know, I am trying to find references. It does not seem right to me that Pen-Alfred is excluded from our family portraits. So, I am going to…I was thinking that I could make him some pictures of himself with our grandparents.”

“Aw, mini bat, that’s adorable. I’m in.”

“What? No. You can’t paint.”

“I don’t mean like that, dummy. I’m helping you find the references. I know the attic like the back of my hand, and Dickie-bird can help us go through the photo albums.”

“I am amenable to this course of action. Thank you, brother.”

“No problem. Now, let’s go get the bastard.”

* * *

Dick had just put Neva down for a nap when he was accosted in the hallway by his siblings.

“We’re going to the attic,” Jason said as he dragged Dick towards the attic stairs.

“What? Why? Did you guys light the secondary ballroom curtains on fire _again_?”

“No, of course not. I never repeat chaos week to week. We’re looking for pictures of young Alfred for Dami. He’s gonna make a portrait of Alfie and the Waynes.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. I love it.”

“Silence,” Damian mumbled, blushing.

They wound their way through the rows of tucked-away things to the space just above one of the towers, which had been dedicated to photo albums. They began pulling them out and examining them, and after a few hours they had assembled a sizeable collection of reference photographs.

“I also had the idea that I could do a portrait of the family currently, but I, maybe, add the ghosts of our grandparents standing by Alfred. Do you…do you think that would be alright?”

“Maybe don’t make them, like, transparent,” Jason suggested.

“Hilariously enough, Todd, I had ascertained the inappropriateness of that on my own.”

“I think that would be fun!” Dick said, “Tim can help us, he’s great at making digital models, so he could create a unique reference for us.”

“Cool, where _is _Tim-Tams?”

“Uh. That certainly is a question. That you asked.”

* * *

Tim, as it turned out, was sitting it the Bat Computer, surrounded by empty Zesti cans and coffee cups. An MCR song was blaring from the speakers, and Tim was bobbing his head and humming along as he typed away.

“Uh, Timmy?” Dick said.

Tim whipped around in his chair. His hair was messy, and he was wearing one of Kon’s t-shirts and a ratty pair of sweatpants with a pair of warm slippers.

“What’s up?” He asked.

“You alright there, buddy?”

“Yeah, why?”

“…no reason. Okay, we need you to create some 3D models for us.”

Tim frowned.

“I didn’t know you were all working on case together.”

“Oh, no, no case. We’re helping Dami assemble reference images for a couple of portraits and we want to do one of our family now but, like, with Martha and Thomas.”

“Neato. You’re in luck, B and I just finished working out the kinks in that crime scene rendering software we’ve been building, so I can totally build you a super accurate digital reference for yah. We can even do the background in the program.”

“That would be much appreciated, Tim.”

“Just one little problem. I have absolutely no knowledge of historical costumes and such. We need an…expert.”

“Where would we find one of those?” Dick asked.

Tim grinned.

“Upstairs,” he replied.

* * *

Their fashion history expert was sitting on the couch of the media room, losing Mario Kart to Cass.

“How are you losing as Peach?” Tim asked, incredulous.

“I suck at video games,” Duke replied.

“Yes,” Cass agreed.

“Don’t agree with me!”

She shrugged.

“It’s true,” she said before turning back to the game.

Duke sighed.

“What’s up, guys?” He asked.

“I’m not sure you’re aware but the four of us are not exactly…fashion connoisseurs,” Tim said. 

Duke turned to look at the other boys, taking in Tim’s disgruntled appearance, Dick’s loud Aloha shirt and basketball shorts, Jason’s flannel cargo pants and “ZOMBIES DO IT BETTER” hot pink tank top, and Damian’s lime green tunic and matching yoga pants.

“No,” he snarked, “I was not aware of this.”

“For your information, Richard bought these for me and all of my other ‘loungewear’ is in the wash,” Damian replied glumly, “It is the sole disadvantage to having a monochrome civilian wardrobe.”

“That and being boring,” Dick teased.

“I will hear no such barbs from a man who dresses like the 1970s and 80s had a disturbed love child that threw up on him.”

“Ooh, suck it, mullet man!”

“For the last time, Jason, that was not a mullet! I was growing it out!”

“It was a mullet,” his siblings chorused.

Duke sighed.

“So, what do you guys need?”

They explained the plan.

“I’m down,” he agreed, “I’ll get some references to you ASAP.”

“I will make the frames,” Cass signed.

“Excellent. Thank you, Duke, Cassandra. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to begin pose sketching.”

And, with that, the siblings disbanded.

* * *

Bruce dumped the contents of a cardboard box on the bed. Clark looked up from his laptop.

“Do you, uh, need some help with that?” He asked.

“Hrn,” Bruce grunted.

“Okay,” he replied, going back to writing.

“Don’t you want to know what I’m up to?”

Clark examined the pile of jewellery and old jackets.

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t really, but the fact that you’re asking means that you want to tell me, and I want to hear whatever you want to tell me.”

“…I am making a…present.”

“What kind of present?”

“…for Alfred.”

“What’re you making?”

Bruce’s shoulders slumped.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, do you have any ideas?”

Bruce gave Clark a look.

“I went to medical school and left to get in fights better. I’m not artistic.”

“Don’t be silly. Everyone’s creative!”

“Okay,” Bruce said, “Do you want to see the last piece of art I did?”

“Sure!”

Bruce went over to his desk and pulled out a sheet of paper that was red.

“Here,” he said.

“Uh, what is it?”

“I painted it red.”

“…why?”

Bruce shrugged.

“I like red.”

Clark sighed.

“Okay,” he said, “I think this calls for desperate measures.”

He typed something on his computer and handed it to Bruce.

“Clark, what is this…Pinterest?”

* * *

A few months later, Alfred’s alarm clock didn’t go off, courtesy of a stealth mission the night before.

Tim had snuck through the window and disabled the alarm function while the rest of his family enacted the planned distraction.

Well, they enacted _a _distraction. The plan had been for Batcow to ‘get loose,’ not for Dick and Jason to accidentally electrocute each other while sparring.

Still, distractions were distractions.

Everyone else in the family rose early, shuffling half-asleep into the kitchen.

“Alright, troops, arrange yourselves from most to least competent in the kitchen,” Bruce ordered.

They staggered their way into a line.

Best: Jason

Duke

Dick

Damian

Tim

Worst: Cass

Not included: Bruce (banned from cooking)

“Jason, Duke, and Dick are all on kitchen duty. Cass, go pick out whatever dining ware you think would be best and set up the table. Tim and Damian, you’re with me. We’ll put the new family portrait up. No one wake Terry yet. He’s grumpy if you get him up before 7:30.”

The children nodded and dispersed.

* * *

Dick set to making toast and hardboiled eggs, both minimal effort recipes that he had perfected in college (for the entire month he was there). Duke was assigned to the coffee, bacon, and pancakes. Jason was handling the New York steak and huevos rancheros, as well as putting a coffee cake in the oven.

“I feel like the jobs are a bit unbalanced here,” Dick said.

Duke and Jason exchanged a look.

“Do you _want _to make the coffee?” Duke asked. 

Dick thought back to the last time he made the coffee. Tim didn’t speak to him for three days afterwards.

“I’ll pass, actually.”

“Smart answer, Dickie-bird.”

“Fuck off, Jay.”

“Guys, don’t throw tha- and they’re fighting. Great.”

* * *

Cass had arranged the dining room well, laying out one of the less nice white tablecloths with a light blue satin table runner. She’d also ordered some blue hydrangeas from the florist and had arranged them on the table in Yuan-Ming blue and white porcelain vases.

_Hm_, she thought, _what plates._

She remembered Alfred’s fond face as he described his escapade with Thomas in Okinawa, picking out china for Martha.

She grinned and went to fetch the set they’d bought all those years ago.

* * *

“Damian,” Bruce said faintly, “This is…”

“Yes, Father?”

“Well, it’s very beautiful work, of course, you’re a wonderful artist, but don’t you think it’s a bit…big?”

“No, Father,” Damian deadpanned, standing beside a painting eight and a half feet tall by thirteen feet in length, “I do not.”

“Be grateful we talked him down a few sizes, B,” Tim said.

“Oy vey,” Bruce muttered, “Damian, why?”

“This is a grand portrait of our family. It should be on a grand scale.”

“…a fair point, I suppose. It really is a wonderful piece, son. You should consider submitting some of your pieces to art galleries.”

Damian made a face.

“Or maybe you could join a youth arts group! There’s one that meets in a building near your school. You could spend several hours a day on just art. It’s high time our family had another known artist besides Tim.”

“I don’t do _art_; I just take pictures.”

Bruce glared at Tim.

“That is art, Tim, and you take incredible pictures. I have seen your pictures. They’re good.”

“It’s just a stupid hobby,” Tim grumbled, “Not anything I could make a career out of.”

Bruce let out an aggrieved sigh.

“Tim, son, you can just do art. It doesn’t have to be a career. And don’t disparage hobbies, we all have them.”

His children stared at him in disbelief.

“_You _have hobbies?” Tim said, incredulous. Damian nodded in agreement.

“Well, I listen to Queen.”

“That’s not a hobby!”

“…and I have hidden talents.”

“Like what?”

“I’m a drag performer in New York.”

“You’re _what_?” The boys shrieked.

“Honestly, boys, what do you think I do on my enforced nights off from Batman when I’m not home?”

“I just assumed you were fucking Selina,” Tim said, “Not…performing.”

Bruce grinned at them.

“Well,” he said, “Now you know. Let’s get this moved into the portrait hall.”

“I can never look at you the same,” Tim muttered, “Like, oh my god. My _dad _performs in drag? _My _dad? Who can barely communicate in anything other than grunts most days?”

“Just wait until you see some of my outfits. The sequins and stones will blind you.”

“What does that _mean_?”

Bruce just laughed, carrying the painting out of the room.

* * *

Alfred woke when the sun began to shine into his window.

“A chaca,” he swore, “The whole manor’s probably gone to shit while I was asleep.”

He dressed quickly. When he opened the door, Bruce was standing there. He was hunched in on himself like he always did when he was nervous about something.

Alfred sighed.

“How bad is the damage?” He asked.

“The what?”

“I slept in late and you look nervous. I presume that something has happened?”

“Well, uh, no, it’s just- come with me.”

Alfred followed Bruce down to the second floor of the Manor, entering the portrait gallery. All of his grandchildren were waiting there, faces full of mixed glee and anxiety.

“Oh, dear lord,” Alfred said, “What on _Earth _have you done?”

Damian stepped forward, fidgeting.

“The family portrait needed a bit of an…update,” he said, turning to a covered painting and yanking the covering off.

It at first appeared to be a typical Wayne family portrait. Bruce and his children- and now Neva and Lian- in the signature black, white, and royal blue colour scheme of all Wayne portraits. At first, he was confused about why this portrait deserved such distinction, and then he saw it.

There he was, painted into the painting, standing behind Bruce’s chair, the ever-young forms of Martha and Thomas on either side of him.

“I…” he swallowed his words, eyes suddenly watering.

“There’s more,” Jason said, “We all pitched in on these. Well, we kids did. B’s done his own thing.”

The children parted to reveal another painting, this one of a much younger him seated on a bench in Martha’s rose garden, she and Thomas framing him. They were holding his hands, curled into his body in a way that was undeniably romantic.

“It wasn’t right that you didn’t have any pictures of the three of you together,” Dick said.

“I…thank you, children. This is wonderful.”

Bruce stepped in front of him, then.

“I, ah, thought you deserved a, um, memento of them. My, uh, parents, I mean. Here.”

He shoved a box into Alfred’s hands.

In it lay one of Thomas’ pocket watches, the lid replaced with one faced in the tweed of Thomas’ favourite jacket, the one he was wearing the night he died (_the one Alfred gave him_). The chain had also been replaced, this new one laced with the pearls of Martha’s necklace. He popped open the new fob, revealing Martha and Thomas’ smiling faces.

“Not to sound remarkedly ungrateful for all of these wonderful presents,” he choked out through his tears, “But why all this…today?”

“You don’t remember?” Bruce said, crying as well, “Happy Father’s Day, Dad.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this ridiculousness. Feel free to hit me up on [my Tumblr](http://asexualkingoftheuniverse.tumblr.com) if you have any questions/thoughts/memes/art.


End file.
